Aurora
by Blaiser
Summary: Exploring the intimate side of the Samuel Grant/Cobbs Pond relationship. Smut.


Long, graceful fingers brush up along the length of his thigh, the coarse tips caresses the skin there as gently as if they are exploring a rare and delicate fabric for the very first time. Samuel feels stubble, then a gentle breeze against his ear as Cobbs breathes in deeply, inhaling his scent and making a few stray strands of his hair sway like rushes in the wind.

The narrow bed barely has room for more than one of them and is most certainly not up to the standard they are used to, but it will have to suffice for the few days it will take to get their business in Fort James over and done with. Even though they always spend the night together, separate rooms are a necessary precaution when traveling outside Toronto; not everyone understands the nature of their relationship or accepts it, especially in backward places like Hudson Bay where men are men and only touch one another to either kill or shake hands.

If one is considered a deviant, one quickly becomes a pretender also.

_Mr. Grant, you and your...colleague...are accustomed to more hospitable southern climes. I must caution you that here in the North, death can be brutal and come without warning. I do hope you understand the world you find yourselves in..._

The Redcoat's assumption of their naivety holds no justification for they _do_ understand the frontier and the brutality of its habitants; the fact that they are both still breathing after more than a decade in the fur trade bares witness to that. Besides, Samuel has faced worse obstacles in his life than the likes of Lord Benton and his petty arsenal of threats.

Despite the narrowness of the bed, he lays fairly comfortable on a thick layer of beaver and caribou furs dressed down to his shirt and trousers in an otherwise freezing room on the tavern's first floor. Cobbs' slender frame pressed up against his back with an arm wrapped protectively around his chest, grants Samuel a brief escape from the world; a cruel place where he rarely feels like the confident, potent man he is supposed to be.

The moon casts a dim, blue beam through the small gap between the curtains, lighting up his face. Samuel raises himself on one elbow in order to peak out through the curtain folds and gaze upon the night sky, clad in the shining light of the Aurora Borealis. Like the spontaneous pencil-strokes of a divine artist it whirls slowly over the mountain tops above them, ever moving in a stream of bright green and yellow.

He read an article in a New York paper once about how the Inuit tribes around these parts regards the Northern lights as evil spirits throwing around human skulls, reaped from those unfortunates who enter the wilderness never to be seen again. Although it may come across as silly heathen superstition to most whites, Samuel understands the tales for what they are: mere warnings that encourages native children to seek shelter when darkness falls, safe from the predators that follow in its wake whether they be animal or man.

If only there had been a cautionary tale meant for him when he was a child, before he had to find out the hard way what life had to offer someone of his proclivities. It would have spared him a ton of grief if someone had given warning of the demons that inhabited his world, but on the other hand: that same hardship he had suffered during his younger years had undoubtedly helped sculpture him into the ruthless businessman he was today; one who had been taught the importance and value of ambition through countless painful and often dangerous life-lessons.

Without thatpart of his fundament_,_he suspected thatSamuel Grant would be nothing more than a New Yorker socialite still, living off his family's wealth and who on occasion would find himself getting fucked against a dark alley wall by a stranger with whiskey on his breath.

Like a common street-whore, only dressed better.

"Sam? Darling?"

Cobbs' voice is gentle like his hand trailing up along Samuel's spine beneath the cotton shirt, exploring every detail of his back.

"Are you alright?"

He turns his head slightly and catches his lover's eye. A solitary tear has run down his cheek and left a wet trail there, exposing his frail being to the world once again.

Samuel swiftly wipes it away with the back of his hand, feeling the shame burn beneath his skin as he does so.

"My mind just wandered for a second...I'm fine". Cobbs watches him intently for a moment, not sure whether or not he believes him. "please don't stop".

He stretches his neck a little to meet Cobbs' lips and they exchange a long, passionate kiss before Samuel breaks it off and lays his head on the pillow, closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out the thought of head-hurling demons and simply enjoy the moment and his lover's tender touch instead.

Patiently, Cobbs loosens up his shirt one button at a time. Goose-bumps starts to spread across his bare skin but is soon driven off by the warmth of Cobbs' mouth covering his back with small, moist kisses. Coarse hairs rasp against his shoulder-blades and travels downwards towards his ass where they come to a halt at the small of his back just above the waistband.

Through the soft fabric of his trousers, a hand gently gives his cock a squeeze before skillful fingers swiftly unbuttons them, leaving him exposed to the chill air of the room for just a brief moment. Cobbs tastes his neck and collarbone before wrapping his palm around Samuel's length, working him with long, slow strokes.

Uttering a small moan, Samuel leans his head backwards exposing his throat and Cobbs welcomes the invitation, licking up along his jugular before meeting his lips and running his free hand through his thick, dark hair, pulling it a little.

Inside his chest, his heart is drumming against the ribcage threatening to breach through it. Samuel gasps against his lover's mouth as he feels his face begin to flush and his member stirring hungryly. He arches his back against Cobbs until he can feel the other man's erection pushing against him.

"Please…." Samuel whimpers almost silently "please…fuck me".

He places a hand on top of Cobbs' halting his strokes, then proceeds to push down his trousers, exposing the pale skin of his rear to the moonlight.

Cobbs issues a delighted hum against his ear and gives him a final kiss before retracting his hands to open up his own trousers, producing his now painfully throbbing cock.

"How do you want it, my sweet?" he purrs and rubs himself against the cleft of Samuel's ass, letting him know just how hard he makes him.

Silent, Samuel turns onto his stomach, facing the window and the beautiful green light dancing across the winter sky.


End file.
